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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28509069">If there was ever anything for me here</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownedCursed/pseuds/CrownedCursed'>CrownedCursed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A little, Angst, Dissociation, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hopeful Ending, I added another part :), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, Loneliness, Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sad, Starvation, Stress, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Sympathetic Dream, Sympathetic Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo Has a Bad Time, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, a lot of angst uhhhhh, a lot of these tags are just implied but please be careful!!, i don't care abt cannon and neither does anything in my notes app, im so sorry, they get worse too, tubbo's just a bit of a mess, wow these tags aren't fun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:56:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28509069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownedCursed/pseuds/CrownedCursed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The funny thing about loneliness was that it wasn't always bad. Sometimes it was even fun. It was a terrible trap, Tommy had quickly realised. </p><p>His favourite pastime was listening to the discs, they'd always been there for him after all, but maybe all this being by himself, was doing him more harm than good. Clara wouldn't lead him wrong, though.</p><p>(please read the tags!!! this isn't a fun fic)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, Tommyinnit &amp; Clara, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>475</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The funny thing about loneliness was that it wasn't always bad. Sometimes it was even fun. It was a terrible trap, Tommy had quickly realised. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Sometimes he'd be mining for materials, going for hours without being distracted by anything or anyone. It had made him very productive, this being alone thing. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It could also turn on its head, go from a friend to an enemy in an instant. Like the times where Tommy would stay in bed for days at a time, not eating, not sleeping; there was nothing- no one- to make him want to. Dream only came by once a week to destroy his progress anyway, he would reason, and he was still three days out, so what would it matter if he didn't get up again today? No one would know. No one would care. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Being alone left Tommy with a lot of free time. Now, there wasn't much he could do with this free time, he didn't have much on him, and no one ever came to check up on him, so the list of options was a short one: </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-mine <em><strike>it'll be destroyed anyway</strike></em></span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-work on the path through the nether <strike><em>who'd ever use it?</em></strike></span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-listen to the discs</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The last option was his favourite. There were no downsides to it, really, there were only upsides. One upside. Clara. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Clara was... well she was Clara. She was everything good. The only person who hasn't left him, never had, never would. Tommy could trust Clara would always be there, because despite being up in space, and all alone, just like him, as long as he had her disc she was with him. He had the part of her she left on earth, and as long as he kept it safe she would keep him company. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The music was mesmerising. Note after note, sound after sound, every slight difference in pitch had a meaning. Tommy wanted to know everything Clara had to say. After so long in exile, so long alone, playing the discs over and over, Clara had figured out how to move from one disc to another. He didn't only have to play </span>
  <span class="s3">her</span>
  <span class="s1"> one anymore, not that he would've complained, but now she could tell him stories other than her own. Tommy was glad. Even Clara needed to do new things sometimes. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">His favourite pastime was lying out in the grass next to the jukebox and listening to her spin tales, stories of triumph and glory, of destruction and desolation. Of family. Sometimes he'd loose track of his surroundings, so caught up in her stories, he'd open his eyes to darkness, when a moment ago it was morning, or he'd sit up soaked through and have no memory of it raining. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Again, he wasn't complaining, not even slightly concerned that he was losing huge chunks of time. Not when he was using it to listen to Clara. It made the time between interactions with real people <strike><em>only Dream, only ever Dream</em></strike></span>
  <span class="s1"> shorter too. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-------</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">One time he opened his eyes to Ghostbur sitting next to him. "Why were you sleeping outside?" he'd asked, confused. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Tommy hadn't replied. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Ghostbur wasn't very intrested in Tommy's "vacation" and spent most of his time at L'Manburg, away from him. Not that he'd expected anything different. Alivebur had spent literal years in wars for the place, for the town, not for Tommy. Why would he spend time with his <em>selfish, immature, fuck up of a little brother? </em></span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s4">
    <strike>But Tommy had spent all that time at war too. Why did it mean so little?</strike>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He saw Dream more often that Ghostbur. Like, way more often. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think he'd even seen Ghostbur, let alone spoken to him, in over a month. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">But whatever. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dream was set to show up tomorrow. After so long of listening to Clara's stories he'd managed to at least estimate how much time had passed between each one he was lucky enough to listen to. She always had so much time for him. So unlike everyone else trapped on this Maker-forsaken rock. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dream didn't understand why Tommy liked the discs. Why Tommy <em>needed </em></span>
  <span class="s1">the discs. He couldn't get it. He didn't know how they were the only things he'd managed to keep with him, from place to place, world to world, the only things that could still give him comfort. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It hurt that, even after so long, Tubbo didn't understand it either. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">But Clara understood. She stood by him, knowing that there was nothing, and would never be anything else, that could help him the way the discs did. They never used to be so intriguing, couldn't enrapture him then the way they did now, but circumstances were different before. While he might have loved them then, he knew he couldn't live without them now. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">They were like air. <em>More </em></span>
  <span class="s1">than air. Even when he hasn't slept, eaten, moved from his place next to the jukebox in days, the music, Clara's stories, kept him awake, kept him breathing, kept him <em>happy</em></span>
  <span class="s3">. </span>
  <span class="s1">Without them, without <em>her</em></span>
  <span class="s3"><em>,</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">he'd be a husk of himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Maybe he already was. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-----</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">On days where he couldn't talk to Clara he felt like he was dead, like he was already stiff and cold in the ground. Those were the days Dream showed up, always alone, always with Tommy's suffering as his goal. He always succeeded. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He couldn't have the discs out when Dream was round. He knew they'd only be destroyed, taking him with them. There would be no recovery from that blow. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Behind him, he heard the sounds of the portal opening, and got to his feet, discs already tucked away in his ender chest. Without prompting he stripped himself of his armour and weapons, throwing them unceremoniously into the hole next to his tent, the hole that existed solely to let Dream reset any and all progress Tommy might have made. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">A new occurrence in this process, one that made the day remarkable, was slumping to his knees next to the hole, apparently unbalanced after letting the pile of his belongings go. Black spots clouded his vision, and he swayed unsteadily. He blinked.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">"Tommy?" Dream called from behind him, and Tommy gasped a breath. When had he stopped-?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dream grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. "What was that, huh Tommy? Upset are you?" He asked maliciously. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Tommy didn't reply. Now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone that wasn't Clara. He stopped thinking about it. <em>Why had he almost collapsed?</em></span>
  <span class="s1"> he thought instead, and promptly decided to stop thinking about that too.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Later, while the flames in the pit roared loudly, Dream spoke again. "I have some news for you Tommy!" he exclaimed, and dread filled Tommy's stomach like lead. He slid his eyes sideways, from the sky to Dream, from his position lying on the ground. It was damp. He didn't care.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dream met his eyes, as best as Tommy could guess from behind the porcelain mask. "Remember the compasses?" Dream asked, and Tommy frowned. Compasses? What compasses? Tommy only had one compass, a gift from Ghostbur that pointed to Tubbo.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">At his frown Dream elaborated, confusion in his voice, "The one that points to Tubbo, has <em>your Tubbo </em></span>
  <span class="s1">on it; Tubbo has one for you? Ring any bells?"</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Tubbo had one for him? When had that happened? He must've forgotten. He smoothed out his frown and looked back to the clouds. He wished they were gone, then maybe he'd catch a glimpse of Clara up there. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He sighed.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">"Well." Dream said, disappointment evident, "I was going to tell you that he destroyed it, put the compass that pointed to you into the fireplace and watched as it burned." He studied Tommy for any sign of reaction, but there was nothing, the boy in the grass having already gone back to his own thoughts. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">When Tommy came back to himself Dream was long gone, and the raging fire was nothing but smoke and ashes. It was dark, and he couldn't remember what he'd been thinking about. It wasn't Clara though; he would never forget talking to Clara, and the discs weren't on anyway. He guessed it didn't matter and stumbled to his tent.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">-----</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The stars were bright that night, reflecting off the waves in front of him, and Tommy walked slowly towards them, stopping at the edge, where the water lapped gently at the sand. His ribs hurt, and Tommy couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, the last time he'd ate, the last time he'd had the energy to try and do either. Was he out of food? He didn't know.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">His reflection in the water was distorted, but Tommy could make out enough to feel... something. His skin was sunken and sallow, cheekbones protruding prominently from his face. His eyes, previously bright blue, were a dull, washed out grey, ringed with deep purple bags. His blonde hair was a mess, grimy and dirty, pushed in all directions. He could feel his ribs, and his shirt hung of him in a way it never had before. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Was he upset? Tommy didn't think so. He didn't have enough energy for that. Concerned? No... not that either. Well what was it then? Cold? A shiver ran through his frame. Maybe it was just that.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">If it was so cold he should probably hang out in the nether for a while. You couldn't find anywhere hotter than there. That sounded like a good idea. Even though he'd be further from Clara, he could bring the discs with him. Yes, this was a very good idea, he thought, heading towards the jukebox. He picked it up, placing it carefully in his inventory, before going to his ender chest to retrieve the discs. He placed those next to the jukebox. All set.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Going through the portal made him nauseous, and Tommy slammed his hands down onto the neatherack ground as he lost his balance. Today, darkness completely filled his vision, and when he awoke, Tommy was lying on his side next to the portal. He drew in a painful breath. What was up with him? </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3"><em>"The discs!"</em> </span>
  <span class="s1">his brain supplied urgently, and he pushed himself frantically to his knees. They couldn't be broken, he couldn't have landed on them and shattered them into pieces, he couldn't have! There was no way they were right, he wasn't <em>careless</em></span>
  <span class="s3">, </span>
  <span class="s1">he wasn't a <em>liability</em></span>
  <span class="s3">, </span>
  <span class="s1">he wasn't <em>destructive</em></span>
  <span class="s3">.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He flicked through the discs quickly, ensuring they were still whole, then more carefully, looking for cracks and scratches over their delicate markings. There was nothing. Tommy sighed deeply, curving his body over the discs protectively. He wasn't what they thought, and Clara could still talk to him. Everything was fine. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He walked unsteadily towards his bridge, the one that would show any visitors the way from L'Manburg to Logstedshire. Not that there ever was anyone, not that there ever had been anyone. But Tommy didn't want to think about that. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He placed the jukebox down on the edge of the bridge and sat down next to it, legs swinging sluggishly over the edge. Even that was exhausting. Maybe he was getting sick. He placed the <em>Chirp </em></span>
  <span class="s1">disc into the box and turned it on. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The last time Tommy had been here, Dream had pulled him back from the edge of the bridge.<em> "It's not your time to die."</em></span>
  
  <span class="s1">he had stated .</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3">
    <em>"It's never my time to die." </em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">he'd replied, but wasn't it? How did Dream know what Tommy was to make of his life? Or could've made from his life. There didn't really seem to be much left of it anymore. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Clara was- Clara was in the sky, in space. And when you died, you either became a ghost, like Ghostbur, or you left. Went away, went <em>up. </em></span>
  <span class="s1">Surely if Tommy were to just, go, leave, die, he'd end up with Clara. He could stay there forever, with her, instead of just for a handful of hours.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">That way, Dream wouldn't even get the chance to take his last life. Dream wouldn't get that win, or have that defeat under his belt, he'd get <em>nothing</em></span>
  <span class="s3">, </span>
  <span class="s1">and now Tommy was having a hard time thinking of reasons he shouldn't just do it. Go and slide himself over the edge. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The lava was calling to him. It was warm, a deep, swirling orange, similar to the purple of the nether portal. Lava was so much richer, so much deeper, so much hotter than water. It ran hot, in raging rivers; it was <em>destructive</em></span>
  <span class="s3">.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Just like Tommy.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Tommy laid his head against the jukebox, resting his weight against it. The notes echoed around his head, thrummed under his skin, raced through his veins. Clara was talking to him again, humming prettily just under the song of her disc. He wanted to touch it, hold her words in his hands. Maybe he'd rather be wrapped up in them, drown in them instead. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The lava was appealing. Tommy was still cold. Would it be like a hug? Like the ones he used to get from Wilbur, but never would again? Like the ones he would get from Phil when he was younger? Like the ones he could almost remember getting from his M-</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It looked like it would. It looked like it would be... nice. Fun. Should that be concerning? Even Dream had told Tommy he wasn't supposed to die yet. Actually, what was he thinking? If anything Dream had issued him a challenge. Not defy his captor? It was laughable that Tommy wouldn't go out of his way to infuriate Dream. Surely this was the best way to do it? He wouldn't be dying a hero, not by any means, not now. He wouldn't be going out in battle for his home. But he would be going out in defiance of the enemy, by his own choice. Waiting for Dream to decide to kill him was nothing like Tommy. It was coming, he knew, but if he died before Dream got the chance to kill him it was a win. It had to be. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The only thing holding him back was Clara. Maybe if he died, he'd make it to her all the way up in space, but they had a deal. As long as he kept her disc safe she would keep him company. It had always been upheld. How could he keep the disc, all the discs, safe from up in space? It's not like he could take them with him. Right?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Tommy closed his eyes tightly, pressing his ear to the jukebox, and hoped that if he listened hard enough Clara would tell him what the right thing to do was. He couldn't make out her advice, not over the lava, and the mob sounds, and his own racing thoughts. Swallowing harshly, he tried again. He couldn't upset Clara, not by misusing her disc, a part of her. She would never love him then. He'd be back at square one. Back with nothing again. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3">
    <em>"Tommy..." </em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">he heard, and knew it was her.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">"Clara," Tommy rasped, voice ruined from disuse, "Clara, i need your help. I don't know what to do. Please..."</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3">
    <em>"Tommy..."</em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1"> she murmured, and Tommy held his breath. </span>
  <span class="s3">
    <em>"Others can do as they wish. There is light in everyone, just as there is dark, but I am here. I will always be here. With you." </em>
  </span>
  <span class="s1">She sounded like she was smiling. He could imagine it. It was all the permission he needed.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The best way to keep Clara safe, to keep looking after her disc, was to take it with him. Doing that would ensure it never got into the hands of anyone else, of someone like Dream. If he was lucky he might even get to keep them all with him when he reached Clara. Ghostbur still had the clothes he died in after all, and still had any items Alivebur deemed important. He'd even given Tommy the trench coat to keep him warm, back when he used to visit. Perhaps the same would become of Tommy's discs, and he'd be able to keep them. He hoped so. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Impossibly, the lava looked even more inviting than it had moments before. Tommy whispered goodbye to Clara and turned off the jukebox, taking the disc out and placing it back with the others. He didn't bother standing. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Tommy wrapped his arms around the four discs in his possession; Chirp, Cat, Far, and Wait, and looked towards the portal back to L'Manburg. He sighed. It was upsetting that no one back home cared anymore, that no one would miss him, but Tommy was lucky, he still had one person on his side. One person who still cared. He couldn't stay here in exile and wait for the people he had fought for to care for him again when there was someone waiting for him. It had been long enough since he'd last been smiled at. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">So Tommy smiled sadly and saluted towards the portal before turning back to the lava. His grey eyes gleamed in anticipation, and he fell forward.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s5">
    <strong>
      <em>TommyInnit tried to swim in lava.</em>
    </strong>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-----</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Space wasn't quite what Tommy had thought it'd be. It was dark, but it wasn't cold. He could look down at the block-shaped planet in the distance and watch the water swirl. It was calm, something Tommy wasn't used to, but he knew he would grow to like, especially with Clara by his side. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The best part, Tommy decided, was that he wasn't alone anymore. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Aftermath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Everything in L'Manburg came to a halt as each person checked their communicator. </p><p>Tubbo was frozen. There was no way Tommy was- no. There was no way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So here's that alternate ending I promised!! I didn't intend for it to be this long, but whatever lol</p><p>Happy reading! (it probably won't be)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <strong>
      <em>TommyInnit tried to swim in lava. </em>
    </strong>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">The effect of the message was instantaneous. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Everything, everyone in L'Manburg came to a halt as one by one each citizen checked their communicator. The person to break the silence was Niki, with a horrified scream. Eret rushed to her side, but the commotion had already begun.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tubbo was frozen. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ranboo kneeling on the ground. His body was shaking and he was taking in great, heaving breaths. Or at least that was what Tubbo assumed was happening. He couldn't hear very much over the ringing in his ears. George and Sapnap were hurrying towards him, no Dream in sight, and-</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">No Dream in sight. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tubbo looked towards the portal. Dream was storming his was towards it, Ghostbur on his heels. He was tense enough that Tubbo could see it from where he was standing, but he couldn't tell if he was angry or horrified behind the mask. Interactions with Dream so far were no help deciding on which option was more likely. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Ghostbur was mostly invisible, shaken to the point of no longer being able to hold his corporeal form, and panicked beyond anything anyone had seen before. Not even in the midst of battle had Wilbur looked so terrified. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Where was Dream going anyway? To see Tommy? Tommy was- Tommy couldn't be- If Tommy was really dead, which Tubbo couldn't believe for the sake of his own sanity </span>
  <em>
    <strike>
      <span class="s4">ohgodohgodhecan'tbegone </span>
    </strike>
  </em>
  <span class="s3">then he would've died out in...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Out in where? Tubbo didn't know. </span>
  <span class="s2">He never bothered to visit.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s4">
    <strike>
      <em>ohgodohgodwhathaveyoudone?</em>
    </strike>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s5">
    <strike>
      <em>
        <strong>whathaveidone?</strong>
      </em>
    </strike>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">The portal flared to life, and Tubbo was racing after them, bypassing the reaching arms of Sapnap, and ignoring calls from Quackity. No way was anyone getting to Tommy, checking on Tommy, before him. No no no.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">The nether was scorching, a wall of heat battering his body from all sides as soon as he was through the portal, but Tubbo didn't care. He couldn't stop. He followed the spectral glow from Ghostbur to where he and Dream were standing. They were on some sort of bridge to who-knows-where staring over the edge </span>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span class="s4">ohgodohgod</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
  <span class="s3">.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Distantly he heard other voices, other running footsteps behind him as he came to an abrupt stop next to Ghostbur and looked over the edge. Immediately, he wrenched his gaze away. The lava below, far, far below, was a churning pit of fire and pain, and Tubbo didn't want to think about why they had stopped here. Why were they stopped here? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">And then he heard it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Music.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">He breath caught in his throat as he turned to look past Ghostbur, past Dream, to the jukebox sitting innocently on his other side. Sat at the edge of the bridge was the box, playing the </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Chirp</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3"> music disc. It was distorted, crackly, occasionally fading out into static. The problem was that the disc was a ghostly blue. Like Ghostbur. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Ghostbur," Tubbo whispered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Yes Tubbo?" he replied just as quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Do you... see anything near that jukebox?"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Ghostbur turned to look at it, tipping his head to the side before stepping away from the edge of the bridge. Tubbo watched as he walked around to the other side of the jukebox, stopping suddenly to stare at the spot behind it, just out of Tubbo's view. Ghostbur smiled widely. Tubbo felt his heart stop.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Tommy!" Ghostbur cried, and threw himself to the ground to hug-</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">To hug-</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tubbo took his eyes off the top of Ghostbur's head and stepped back from the edge of the bridge. He went to move towards where Ghostbur was sat, but Dream grabbed his arm. His grip was tight. It only made Tubbo feel worse. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Tubbo, you don't want to... you don't need to see him-" he tried, and Tubbo hissed venomously in return.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Yes I do! Yes I do! I have to go over there, I have to </span>
  <span class="s2">see</span>
  <span class="s3"> him because I have to know! He can't be- </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">I have to know.</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3">" And he pulled his arm viciously from Dream's grip. He didn't reach for him again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tubbo took the last two steps to the other side of the jukebox and felt his eyes well up at what he saw. Despite expecting it, he couldn't stomach the thought; seeing Tommy's ghostly form sitting on the edge of the bridge was like an arrow through the heart. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tommy was sitting cross-legged on the ground, leaning against the jukebox. Ghostbur was wrapped around him, but that didn't hide the items Tommy- GhostInnit?- still held dear from Tubbo's view. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">He was sat in an oversized coat with the L'Manberg flag embroidered on one tattered sleeve. It was likely the coat that Wilbur had died in. Around his neck was a bright green bandana, tangled up with a golden chain that had only a compass hanging from it. In his arms were three discs, a fourth being played in the jukebox already, and at his side was a netherite sword, the tip glowing orange. His eyes were huge pools of lava, drops falling heavily from his lashes onto sunken grey cheeks. He was bobbing his head along to the music. Tubbo felt sick. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Despite Ghostbur being curled around him, GhostInnit showed no sign of noticing him, continuing to bop his head happily to the song on the disc</span>
  <span class="s2">, </span>
  <span class="s3">and pay no attention at all to his surroundings. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Tommy?" Tubbo whispered, startling Ghostbur from his position next to his brother.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Tommy look!" the older ghost exclaimed happily, "It's Tubbo! He's come to visit you on vacation you see. We need to help them find the portal to Logstedshire. Well, you would be the one doing the finding, I can't quite remember where we put it." </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Ghostbur rambled on and GhostInnit didn't even spare him a glance. It was like he didn't know he was there. Tubbo had yet to take his eyes off the shadow of his best friend, staring silently at the obnoxious, rambunctious boy who'd been left as an empty shell of himself, on the edge of a bridge in the nether. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s4"><strike><em>Yourfaultthisisyourfault</em></strike>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Ghostbur turned to Tubbo, face creased in confusion, "Can he not hear me?" he asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">No one spoke for a moment, but it was Dream who stepped forward. "I don't think he can hear anything Ghostbur."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">If anything Ghostbur looked even more confused. "But he's right here? And I can see his ears... Could it be me? Can some ghosts not see other ghosts? You should try instead!"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Well," Dream started, "I don't- Tommy's not quite a ghost Ghostbur."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">What was that supposed to mean? GhostInnit was right there, and he was dead. What else could be be? Tubbo dragged his eyes away from GhostInnit and drew in a shuddering breath.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"What do you mean?"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Dream flinched at the detached calmness of Tubbo's voice, but continued. "We," he gestured to Bad standing behind him, "think Tommy might be... a Shade, maybe."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Ghostbur's eyes flicked quickly between Dream, Bad and Tubbo. "Wh- what's that?"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">This time it was Bad that spoke, "He's not really here anymore, Ghostbur. This is just an imprint, an impression of himself that's been left here."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"This can't be an imprint of Tommy, Tommy's nothing like this!" Ghostbur insisted, "Tommy was loud, and he liked talking, and running around, and- he wouldn't just sit here in silence, especially not in the nether! There's something wrong-"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">And that was all Tubbo could take. Distantly he recognised Niki and Quackity coaxing him up off the scorching ground </span>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span class="s4">when did he sit down?</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
  <span class="s3"> as well as the floods of tears racing their way down his face, the gasping shallow not-breaths he was taking, that were making him lightheaded, and the relentless trembling plaguing his frame. This wasn't what he'd wanted! He- Tommy was supposed to be fine, and he was going to come back when everything was fixed to help with keeping people </span>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span class="s4">Tubbo</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
  <span class="s3"> happy. He was going to do all the things they used to do before the wars and fighting... but he wasn't, was he?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Because Tommy was dead. And he wasn't even the kind of dead person Tubbo could apologise to, maybe even be forgiven by. Tommy was dead and there was no ghost, no body, and no grave.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tommy was dead and that was that.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">-----</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">The day Philza and Technoblade came back to L'Manburg was the worst day since the day Tommy passed. The whole place was silent as they walked from the entrance of the town to the portal to the nether, and no noise started up again after they'd gone through. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">The dream team hadn't been seen since Tommy's passing, Dream apparently feeling responsible for what'd happened. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span class="s4">"I saw- I saw him before Sap, I pulled him back from the edge before... I should've done something. Anything."</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Ghostbur hadn't been seen since either, not that he was missing or anything. He simply refused to leave his little brothers side. He didn't feel guilty, solely because he couldn't feel that emotion anymore, it was too negative for him to deal with, instead he felt... unsettled would probably be the best way to put it. The Tommy he'd been faced with was so different to the one he'd known, both alive and dead, that it seemed he'd decided to put all his time and effort into getting to know this </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">new</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3"> Tommy. The Tommy who couldn't respond, and wasn't exactly </span>
  <span class="s2"><em>aware</em>,</span>
  <span class="s3"> but who had a good ear for music, sometimes humming his own, made up tunes, and a select few pass times he seemed to enjoy doing, like counting the amount of blocks his bridge was made out of- jumping on each of them one at a time- and waving at the ghasts as they passed him by. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">At the sight of his remaining family Ghostbur hurried to his feet, having been knelt by Tommy's Shade, and rushed over to the approaching duo, hoping to talk to them before they continued over to Tommy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Hello!" he greeted them happily.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Techno only grunted in reply, while Phil wrapped his perpetually-positive son in a hug. When he pulled back, Ghostbur grabbed Phil's wrist, insisting on them having a short conversation.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"I really would love to Ghostbur, but i'm here to see-" Phil had started before Ghostbur cut him off.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"I know, I know, but I should really tell you some thing's before hand, especially after how Tubbo reacted... It won't take more than a moment!" And so he reluctantly agreed.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Ghostbur hummed, thinking to himself beforestarting his explanation. "Well. Tommy's dead," Ghostbur stated, and Phil flinched, "but he's not exactly like me. Dream called him a Shade, or an impression of who he was when he died that's been left here. I wasn't around much before Tommy died but, well he's really different now. He can't respond to us, or interact with anything, and sometimes he does these little activities- but, uh, he just spends most of his time sitting on the edge of his bridge listening to his discs. That's it. He won't- you can talk to him but he won't hear you. I'm really sorry."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Throughout his explanation Techno had gotten more and more tense, and Phil's face had drained of colour.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"We can't talk to him?" Phil asked quietly, and Ghostbur shook his head sadly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Come on," the ghost beckoned them forward, "You should come see him now, he might be changing out his discs soon!"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Despite Ghostbur's warning, the small, pale boy sitting over a lake of lava wasn't at all what Phil and Techno had expected to have become of Tommy. The ghost- </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Shade</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3">- was sitting cross-legged on the block next to the jukebox, that was playing a distorted, hushed version of </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Chirp</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3"> that he was humming along to.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Wilbur's old trench coat was bunched up around him, fading slightly through the ground, and bright orange tears of lava were slipping slowly down his face. Phil made a wounded noise, and Techno finally spoke. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Who did this? Who did this to him?" he demanded.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Ghostbur just sighed, "No one visited him in exile, and he shut down more and more the longer it went on. I guess it just got to be too much for him."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Why didn't you come and get us!" Techno asked angrily.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"I had to stay with him! Then I left and couldn't find my way back! What-" Ghostbur's voice cracked, "what's to say I wouldn't have gotten lost trying to find you?"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Stop." Phil sighed, "Just, just stop now." </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">He walked forward, crouching down next to Tommy and studying him with the deepest sense of sadness Ghostbur thought he had ever felt from him. Even more intense than when he'd killed Wilbur. That made sense though. From what Ghostbur could gather, Wilbur was an insane person who'd gone off the rails. Tommy was just a kid, and now he'd always be just a kid. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">The song came to a close and Tommy turned towards the jukebox, and away from Phil, to change out the disc. </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Chirp </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3">was swiftly replaced with </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Far</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3"> and Tommy retook his seat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">The rest of Techno and Phil's visit was spent with everyone sitting around the jukebox, watching Tommy, who looked happier, more content, than Ghostbur could remember him being in a long time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">-----</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">On their way out of town, Techno and Phil stopped by the Whitehouse. Ghostbur had stayed back in the nether with Tommy, as was expected, but Phil wanted to talk to Tubbo before he left. He was dragging Techno unwillingly along with him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"He's the one who exiled Tommy in the first place." Techno huffed as they approached the building.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Tubbo isn't the only person at fault here," Phil replied with a glare, "and according to Ghostbur, he's probably been having a hard time of this situation too."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"I'm not happy about it." Techno responded.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Neither am I, but I can't, in good conscience leave another child to suffer by themselves."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Techno flinched, but followed him anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">The cracks around the door to Tubbo's office were dark, showing there were no lights on inside. For a moment Phil questioned wether or not Tubbo was even there, but decided it couldn't hurt to check. Carefully, he turned the door handle and pushed it forward to enter, Techno following close behind. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tubbo was sat in his chair behind his desk, caught in a fitful sleep. There were papers scattered everywhere; across his desk, the floor, spilling out of open cabinets and piled up on other surfaces. Something told Phil that the mess predated Tommy's passing, and that the clutter wasn't caused by grief. More like stress. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">He was wrapped up in a blanket, old and worn, collapsed face down on the desk, on top of piles of documents, pen still in hand. From what Phil could make out in the dark, Tubbo's hair was a mess, his face was red and, if he wasn't mistaken, he'd recently been crying. His hitched breathing only served to support that theory. He doubted he'd left his office in days.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"It won't to for him to wake up with me here." Techno muttered, turning away, "Bad blood. I'll wait outside."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Phil wasn't sure he wanted to know what exactly that "Bad blood" comment had meant, and Techno wasn't any good with the emotional stuff anyway, so he let him be, and slowly moved over to Tubbo. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Hey..." Phil whispered, hoping not to startle him. The effort was wasted as Tubbo immediately shot up straight in his seat. He's eyes failed to focus in the dark, darting uselessly around the room. Phil pulled a torch out of his inventory, illuminating himself, as well as the room.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tubbo jumped again, and his face quickly fell at the sight of who was before him. "Yes Phil?" he asked timidly, hands fidgeting with the papers he'd been sleeping on seconds ago.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Hello Tubbo." Phil replied, "How are you?"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Oh i'm- i'm-" he pulled in a deep breath, "Whatever you're here to ask for, or say, or, anything, can you just- I have so much work to do, and I know what happened is on me so-"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"That's what i'm here to talk to you about." Phil interrupted, Tubbo's face only falling more. "No, no, wait. Tubbo, I can't agree with the choice you made in exiling Tommy, but I also can't just leave you here like this. You're a mess, kid."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"I'm fine Phil, I just have a lot to do."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"You're just a- you're not equipped to deal withall of this on your own."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"To deal with what?" Tubbo asked incredulously. "We're not at war, nothing's exploding, no ones invading, new things are being built-"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"You're trying to build up a nation, in Wilbur's place no less, and your best friend just died."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Silence.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Have you even left your office since then?" Phil asked. "When was the last time you ate? Spoke to anyone?"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"I- I don't-"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"I know you've heard the rumours, that people think you're going to end up like Schlatt, and looking at the state of this room, and how no one has managed to help you, I wouldn't be surprised. But, Tubbo, we don't need another Tommy either. You can't just hole up in here and waste away."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tubbo's face scrunched up painfully and Phil moved closer to him, slowly. "It's just, there's so much to do, and no one thinks I can do it, and Tommy was Vice President! He was supposed to help me, but then he set fire to- and Dream really wanted to exile him and, and now he's </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">dead-</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3">" And Phil wrapped Tubbo in a hug.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tubbo was a mess, crying into Phil's coat. This isn't what he'd come here expecting. He'd thought maybe Tubbo was a little overworked, maybe he was still upset, but it was dawning on him now that it was the actual adults in L'Manburg that weren't paying enough attention to the things that needed doing, leaving it all to Tubbo. Another child. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">He'd thought it strange that him and Techno had just been able to </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">walk into the White House, </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s3">but it looked now like no one else was even here at all.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"They can't put all this on you Tubbo. There are people that work for you who are supposed to take care of at least half the work you have piled up in here, right?" Phil asked quietly. Tubbo nodded weakly. Phil sighed.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"I really am sorry." Tubbo mumbled. "About what happened, what I did, what I didn't do. If I could change it..."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"I know that. I'm sure Tommy knows that too."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Tubbo raised his head, "Are you sure? I wasn't very nice the last time I saw him." he admitted quietly. He was much too young to be worrying about things like this, Phil thought. Did no one else see it was a problem?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"You were best friends for too long for Tommy to </span>
  <span class="s2">not </span>
  <span class="s3">forgive you. He understood, I promise." Phil tried to assure him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"How do you know?" </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Tommy wears Wilbur's old coat, and he fought for L'Manburg too, he understood your loyalty to this place. In regards to forgiving you, well, if we count all the discs he has as one item, half of his belongings now are about you." </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Do you think it'll get better?" Tubbo asked, sniffling</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">"Yes, of course it will." Phil replied with full confidence, despite not being quite sure what Tubbo was referring to, and Tubbo nodded, satisfied. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Hey, maybe it would.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So this took a bit longer than I had anticipated, but I hope it was worth it anyway! </p><p>The first part can still be read as a one-shot, I just hadn't wrung all the angst out of this idea and had to keep going :D</p><p>I hope you enjoyed!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey hi! This is my first work on here, so any feedback is much appreciated!! I'm doing this on mobile so if anything messes up I apologise.</p><p>Also i'm gonna write an alternate ending to this fic, so stick around and i'll hit you with another update sometime soon :D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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